Dean
opened the window slowly and leaned out, carefully planting his foot
on the ground outside before letting the rest of his body follow.
"This is ridiculous," he murmured under his breath. He was
twenty-four, going on twenty-five for crying out loud, and here he
was; having to sneak out in the middle of the night to see a girl.

John
was sound asleep in the other room; Dean had made sure to check
before leaving. They'd have at least a couple of hours before he
would have to get back to the motel.

He
crossed the lawn in quick strides, walking towards his car. She only
lived a couple of blocks away - he'd be there in five minutes.

It
had been three days since he last saw her. His dad had dragged him
along on a hunt that had lasted longer than usual. Three days of
wishing he was somewhere else. Three days of longing, and waiting to
get back. He'd missed her terribly; the soft curves of her body,
the smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin against his. His heart
fluttered in his chest at the mere thought of her.

He
parked outside her house and waited, leaning against his car. A
minute passed and then the door to the house opened and she slipped
outside. His heart pounded in his chest. She turned and her face
broke into a smile when she saw him. She scurried over to him and he
wrapped his arms around her.

"Hi,"
she said shyly.

"Hi,"
he replied, also a bit shy.

They
got in the car and Dean pulled out on the street. "So, where to?"
he asked her.

"I
know a perfect place," she replied, "Turn left over there." She
pointed and he stepped on the gas.

----

He
stopped the car by the lake and glanced at her. She didn't notice,
her eyes were on the lake. He watched her twirling her hair into a
tight knot and releasing it. He loved her hair. She opened the door
and turned to him. "C'mon," she said softly.

They
lay by the lake - naked, wet bodies sprawled on Dean's jacket. They
were lying close to each other, her head resting on his chest and his
arms wrapped around her small form. Only a minute ago their bodies
had cut through the surface of the water as they jumped into the
lake.

"I
missed you," he murmured into her damp hair.

"I
missed you too, Dean," she whispered.

He
felt her shiver and pulled her closer. "You cold?" he asked.

"A
little," she replied.

He
reached out for his sweater. She sighed happily as he covered her
upper body with it. "That better?"

She
nodded and kissed him.

They
had known each other for a couple of months now. Dean had never
stayed in one place that long before. His family had always been on
the move, hunting evil all over the country. He and his dad had come
to town three months ago to work a case. One night, while on a hunt,
John had been severely injured and had had to spend a month in the
hospital. He was out of the hospital now, but had been told to rest
for at least a couple of weeks.

Dean
had met her at the hospital. Her grandfather had had a heart attack
and she had been waiting in the hallway while her parents visited
him. Dean had been there too, waiting for news on his father's
condition. They hadn't talked that time. They had just watched each
other, sneaking a peek whenever they thought the other wasn't
watching. A day later they had met again and Dean had introduced
himself. They had been talking that entire day. And Dean had bonded
for the first time with someone other than Sam and his father.

He
could never tell John about her. He'd been interested in a girl
about two years previous and told his father. He hadn't known at
the time that his father wasn't too fond of him talking to girls or
other people either for that matter. They had gotten into a fight and
Dean had received the first but not worst beating from his father.
That night when he had lain in his bed, broken and bleeding, he'd
come to the conclusion that his father had been right. And he'd
sworn to himself that he would never let himself have feelings for
anyone. But he hadn't known how strong his love was for his family
– that it affected everything he did. And he hadn't known he
would meet her. He couldn't stop himself from loving. He had built
around himself walls of steel, walls that would keep his feelings
hidden. But inside those walls - a turmoil of emotion and heartache.
He would never tell his father. He could never tell him what a
failure he was.

----

He
dropped her off at her house two hours later and headed back to the
motel. He opened the creaking window and climbed inside, fumbling
with his clothes as he undressed. Then a hawk and he jumped, the legs
of his jeans twisting around his ankles and causing him to fall. He
landed with a loud thud and a groan of pain.

"Where
the hell have you been?" His father had worked up quite a rage
already. He'd probably been awake for a while, waiting for him, and
gotten angrier and angrier as the minutes ticked away.

Dean
was a good liar. He'd been taught by the best. But he couldn't
lie to his dad. It was impossible. So he wasn't sure what to say
just then. His dad would know he was lying and he'd be angrier
because he was a pussy for not daring to tell the truth.

Truth.
That was a scary word. The truth could be bent. The truth could be
made into white lies and even be turned around and become a real lie.
But the truth for Dean was something pure. He could not taint the
beauty that was the truth. Not to the ones he loved at least.

His
dad on the other hand would rape truth if he had to. He'd turn
truth against the person who would not taint it. He'd beat the ones
who wanted to use it right. Truth could be a weapon if you wanted it
to be.

"I
was with my girlfriend." His mind screamed at him for being so
stupid. It told him he had broken a holy pact and should be punished.
And he agreed. It told him to brace himself for what was to come and
he did.

"What
did you just say?" The rage was bright red by now, burning his body
and Dean started sweating.

"I
was with my…"

"I
heard you!" Dean was shaking now. It wasn't really that he was
afraid, but the heat of rage was making him sick. Sick with himself
for being such a loser, such a failure, such a bad son.

"I'm
sorry." There it was - the truth. Pure and honest. And Dean waited
for it to be smashed and cut into pieces by his father.

"Don't
tell me you're sorry. You're not!" And right there truth was
turned against him - impure and filled with guilt. "You disobeyed
me, son."

His
dad was taking off his belt and Dean watched, thinking that maybe a
birch rod or a dog leash would hurt more. Should he tell his father
that? Maybe they could go out and find a good birch rod together. No,
his father knew best. If he chose a belt, a belt it was.

"Take
off your shirt, Dean." His father sounded calm. Calmer than the
ocean on a windless day. But still raging underneath the surface.

"Yes,
sir." His shirt fell to the floor and he waited, pondering where
the belt would hurt his skin the most. Probably on his ass, if his
dad was planning to whip his backside. He was unsure of what to do,
of how to stand. He'd never done this before but he wanted to do it
right. Make his father proud.

"Face
against the wall." His dad had read his mind. Dean turned face to
the wall and waited for the order to take his boxers off. But that
order didn't come. To his surprise.

"Shield
your hands."

That
made sense. He was going to need them to load a weapon, to use the
crossbow and hold a knife. Dean moved his hands so they were between
the wall and his chest.

Then
the first lash on his back. Sudden. And painful. And Dean closed his
eyes and bit back a cry of pain. Then another, and another. And Dean
was thinking about Sam. Sam was gone, pain. Sam didn't want
to have anything to do with him, agony. Sam was alone, fear.

Lash.
Pain.

Lash.
Agony.

Lash.
Fear.

Then
a sudden fear that his dad wouldn't stop. That his dad would never
forgive him. That his dad would leave him too.

Then
his dad stopped and the door slammed shut behind him as he headed
back to his room. Dean drew a shaky breath and let his hands slump to
his sides. He was tired. His muscles had tensed during the beating
and now they were aching. It felt like his back was on fire. Dean
wondered foolishly if maybe his dad hadn't used the belt on him
after all. Maybe he had hit him with rage instead. Bright red,
burning rage.

He
felt pain and sadness work their way up his body, stopping by his
heart shortly to give it a good wrench and then moving up his throat
to choke him. He swallowed hard, forcing them down again. Not now.
This was not the time to cry. Maybe later when he was dead.

He
walked slowly towards his bed and laid down on his belly. After all
his dad had gone through tonight, he shouldn't have to clean the
sheets too.

He
fell asleep and dreamt about truth and rage and the never-ending war
between them.

----

Seconds
turned to minutes turned to hours turned to days turned to weeks
turned to months and he hadn't gone back to see her. His back had
healed, but left were thin white stripes to remind him of how stupid
he had been.

His
dad was pleased with him again. They hunted evil every night and they
kicked its ass. Sometimes his dad even treated him to a beer or two.

But
months felt like weeks felt like days felt like hours felt like
minutes felt like seconds when he let himself think about her. She
was as fresh in his memory as if they'd never parted that night by
the lake. He could smell her hair, feel her warm soft skin against
his and he had to swallow hard many times to not choke.

Then
one day truth hit him like a brick wall. A family murdered in their
home by burglars. And a photo of her on the front page. And he could
not swallow hard this time to keep from choking. He couldn't think.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His hands were shaking so
hard he couldn't hold on to the newspaper and it fell to the
ground. He gasped for air because his lungs felt like they had
collapsed. His hands fumbled to stop the bleeding from his heart, but
there was no blood. His vision became blurry all of a sudden and he
wondered if maybe he was losing his eyesight too. He felt weak in the
legs and tried in vain to hold on to something to keep him standing.
But he fell. Hard on his knees. Asphalt kissing them so hard it drew
blood. And he screamed. He screamed at Sam for leaving. He screamed
at his dad for not wanting him. He screamed at the world for hurting
him so much. He screamed until his voice broke and he could scream no
more. Then the sobs took over and he couldn't stop them. They
attacked him from inside and pounded on him so hard he had to throw
up.

Someone
stopped beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay,
son?" But he couldn't hear the man. His ears had blocked.
And the hand soon disappeared.

Then
he cried. And he cried until there were no more tears to shed. He
started punching the asphalt with his fists. Punching asphalt's
ugly face. Wanting to hurt it, to break it like it had broken his
knees. And he continued until the asphalt was bleeding his blood and
his fists were numb.

Then
suddenly air returned to his lungs and the sobs stopped pounding
inside him. His vision cleared. There was no more to give. He was
empty inside. But calm.

He
struggled to his feet and wiped at his tears with his sleeve. Ran a
hand through his hair and swallowed hard. And then he went back to
the motel.

He
opened to door to find his dad on the bed cleaning his guns.

"What
happened to you?" his dad asked.

"Got
in a fight with some dudes outside."

"Did
you win?"

He
nodded and smiled a fake smile and his dad seemed proud.

His
dad had been right. It was easier to avoid people, to stay away. It
was easier because then they wouldn't get hurt and they wouldn't
hurt him.